Horatio and Jessica
by Neteret
Summary: A continuation of the Horatio's Harem series, but now as separate stories under the title Horatio and ... Horatio meets Jessica and learns something new about silence.


This is still part of the Horatio's Harem series, but I am now listing them separately.

CSI: Miami

Horatio/oc

Disclaimer: I own nothing of CSI: Miami, I do not know anyone connected with the show or with CBS and they do not know me, all of which is a shame.

Jessica

Silence affects people in different ways. For some, silence is despair, and for some, it's a welcome respite. Silence, for Horatio Caine, was usually a sign of guilt, so Jessica's reticence had disturbed him, especially since he'd had no reason to suspect her of anything. At least, he'd had no reason until a few days later.

His first instinct, of course, had been to blame himself. Nothing made Horatio angrier when people were victimized because of who he was, of what he was. It happened, but that only meant he should be more vigilant. Then, the memory of her reserve had come to him and he'd wondered if it all wasn't some sort of strange ruse.

The cheap hostelry's hallway had smelled of urine and vomit and tinged those wondering thoughts. He'd hoped the bottom feeders that had brought her to the place, at least had the sense not to harm her. The very thought of what could happen to her had caused him to tighten his grip on the pistol butt. Neither the thought of being a dupe or of her being a victim had any place in these situations. He'd paused and made himself relax, loosened his hold on the gun but not the tension on the trigger He'd needed to be able to make clearheaded decisions. Just knowing the victim was hard enough .

A week before, returning from a forensics conference in Taos, New Mexico, he'd seen the forlorn figure standing by a column in the Miami International Airport terminal. Her name was Jessica and she was supposed to be with her tour group from Holland. In only a few words, she'd explained how she'd missed her plane out of Amsterdam and had to catch a later flight and was supposed to join the group at the hotel, but had lost the directions and didn't know what to do. Three phone calls, first to Calleigh to announce his return and to request she look up a phone number for the tour group, next a call to the tour group offices and finally to the hotel in Miami where the tour had been booked, told him where she belonged. He'd insisted on taking her in a cab to the hotel and personally handing her over to her friends. During the cab ride, Horatio couldn't help but notice how little she spoke. It wasn't that she was unforthcoming, and her knowledge of English was certainly fine, so what was it, then?

He would have dismissed the matter, but, two days later, they'd met for lunch, at her expense, as a way of thanking his kindness. She'd insisted on eating outdoors, saying how rare it was to be able to do this in winter in the Netherlands. Again, she'd said little but had obviously reveled in the February sun. This time, he'd found he'd enjoyed watching her, indeed, was compelled to watch her. Not only was she just plain attractive, in that blond and blue eyed, Dutch lass sort of way, but she spoke more beautifully with her expressions and with body movements than anyone he'd ever known before. For the first time, in he didn't know for how long, he'd felt relaxed and happy.

As he'd returned to work that afternoon, he'd thought that it was a shame she was so busy with her tour, wishing he could spend more time with her. Sharply reminding himself of his age in comparison with hers (over fifty, under thirty), he'd ignored the spring in his step.

Then, she'd been kidnapped. As with many tours, the final day had been set aside as an unstructured day, where the tourists could do as they liked. Jessica, paired up with a friend, had gone shopping in an 'Old Miami' area that was filled with quaint shops. To her companion's horror, just as they came out of a store that specialized in Jessica's favorite item, autographed celebrity photos, she'd been grabbed by two men.

MDPD was called and two hours later, Horatio had received the crudely written note demanding the release of a gang leader in exchange for Jessica's life. Ever since he'd been green-lighted by the Mala Noche, he and anyone around him had become a target for every gang in Miami.

Someone must have spotted her with him at that restaurant and decided that they'd use her to get what they wanted. At least, that's what it had looked like. But then, there had been that prime guilt indicator, her silence, and the too coincidental meeting at the airport; all a little too pat, wasn't it? Was she a victim or was he the dupe? Come to think of it, he'd never even checked on her status as a tourist. So much for trust, then verify.

Thanks to Tripp's street sources, it had taken only took a couple of hours to track the idiots to that filthy fleabag. In the dim hotel hallway, noises of all sorts had nearly drowned out the thudding of Horatio's heartbeats. Mostly, there hd been the racket of television programs. Did people in these places turn up the sound to drown out the squalor? He'd known he was approaching the right area when he'd seen the shadow of a large rat cross in front of the light from under the door.

Putting up a hand to signal the armed group behind him, he'd watched the SWAT team get into position. Horatio had taken a deep breath and nodded. In spite of the sounds of battering down the door, the loud orders to drop to the floor, the louder protests, no one had come out of their rooms to see about the disturbance. People there heard nothing and didn't care.

Of course, the three men in the room were entirely surprised that there was anyone in the closet, her hands duct taped to the clothing bar. The bruises from their rough handling showed plainly on her pale skin.

Only vaguely hearing the men's thin excuses as they'd been hauled roughly out of the small room, Horatio had spoken reassuringly to the whimpering girl while he'd carefully eased the tape from her mouth. "There, there. I'm here. You're safe now." He'd felt her body sag against his when he'd cut her hands free of the bonds. His relief at finding her was greater than he'd expected, more than the feeling of a job well done.

That night, at the hospital, assured she hadn't been harmed other than by general mistreatment and the damage done to her skin by the duct tape, Horatio had stood by her gurney, smiling, his head tilted, his blue eyes twinkling. "I've made arrangements for you to continue your stay at the hotel for a few more days."

"But, I'm supposed to leave tomorrow, in the morning. I have to be at work in two days." Her words had been slightly slurred because her lips were swollen from the taping.

"Well, the doctors want to be sure you're okay, and your statement is going to be vital in helping to put these men away for a very long time. I've arranged for police protection for you tonight and tomorrow I'll bring you to the police station. We'll arrange for another flight for you, all right?"

Again, she'd been silent. Having gotten confessions from all three men, he'd known the quiet was not a show of guilt, but of acquiescence to the processes surrounding her. With an ease of mind, he'd realized she was simply a woman of few words.

The following day, before taking her statement, Horatio had announced, "Jessica, I've spoken with your tour group." He hadn't told her he'd called as the well-connected Lieutenant Caine, Criminalist. "They feel very badly about what happened to you." He also hadn't told her that he'd also spoken with several agencies concerned with Miami's tourist business. "They've offered to provide you with an all expenses paid trip back to Miami, at your convenience." He'd offered her the phone numbers to call to make arrangements.

Her familiar lack of words, but obvious gratitude had been all he'd needed. Three days later, he'd put her on a return flight to The Netherlands.

And now, almost a year later, he was meeting Jessica at the Airport again, on purpose this time. Leaving the lab in Calleigh's more than capable hands, he'd even decided to take some much needed time off. Besides, having felt like he'd been the cause of her having been brutalized before, he wanted to make amends. He ignored the small voice that kept taunting at him, 'and you want to see her again, you old letch.'

Saying goodnight to her in the hotel that evening, he was taken by surprise when she stood on tiptoe and kissed him square on the mouth. More so, when instead of letting go, she kissed him again and showed no signs of wanting to stop.

Feeling the signs of arousal, he tried to pull her arms from his neck. "I don't think this is a good idea."

"What? The difference in our ages?" She shook her head slowly at his silent question. "How could I not know? You've certainly mentioned it often enough today. You Americans, with your misplaced ideas of nobility. Pah! I'm not a child but a grown woman and you, I think, are all man. I find you attractive and I have the feeling that you are referring to your age only as a way to deny you find me the same. Why should you do that? What more reason is there for two people to enjoy each other? Now, please, come inside with me or we'll be letting the world know our business." She glanced about the hallway, opened the door to her room, and drew him in.

This was about as many words as he'd ever heard her string together, and was impressed with her eloquence and her logic.

Inside, she kissed him again until he wondered if she would ever stop. She did, but only because she got busy removing his clothing, quickly and efficiently. When she pulled off her own clothing, she proved to him she wasn't a child in any way, shape, or stretch of the imagination. Finally, leading him to the bed, she proved the validity of her opinion of his worth as a man.

An hour later, sweaty, spent, relaxed, his arms filled with her, he realized neither of them had said so much as a word since she'd closed the door to the hotel room. That night, and in the course of the following days, silence became his world in a way he'd never thought possible. He learned that silence, could be a space, a thing of its own accord, like the area inside the handle to a cup or the bowl of the cup itself, necessary and useful.

The End


End file.
